My Foolish Heart (32 page)

“How about ‘Give her something to look at'—like shaving my beard?”

She swallowed, suddenly remembering Caleb's transformation.

She pressed a hand against her mouth.

“Did I make the list, Miss Foolish Heart? Did I meet your standards for the perfect romance? Because it's starting to feel like I didn't.”

He hung up and she listened to the silence, let the show go to dead air.

And in Caleb's house, the light flickered on.

No . . .

BoyNextDoor couldn't be Caleb Knight.

Wait a doggone minute. She'd hardly planned this. He'd called in to her show. He'd asked for her advice. He . . . was the soldier with the missing leg? Their online conversation tunneled back to her. How he'd lain wounded in the ditch, the night closing in around him. How his understanding of her fear had calmed her.

But Caleb didn't look like he was missing a leg, did he? She'd seen him walking around—sure he had a limp and his scars, although she'd stopped seeing them long ago. . . .

No. A guy with a missing leg wouldn't apply to be a football coach, would he?

But why would Caleb lie to her?

The coaching position. The playbook.

She threw off her headphones, scrambled downstairs. Ran down the hall.

Where—? She flicked on the light, tore the books from the bookshelf, then searched the kitchen.

Gone. Of course, gone.

Caleb had invaded her world and stolen the only thing she had left of her father.

She yanked open the front door, her bare feet chilled in the tall grass, ran across his driveway, up his stairs, and pounded on the door.

No answer. She tried the handle. It gave and she pushed her way inside. “Caleb, how dare you!” Her words caught on a sob as he looked up from the sofa.

His computer lay open on his lap, his face solemn, on defense.

“You took my father's playbook?”

“What?”

“Don't lie to me. I figured it out. Why, oh why didn't I stick to my list? I'm an idiot. I made it to keep jerks like you out of my life.”

“What? No, Issy, you've got this all wrong.”

“That wasn't you on the call-in line?” She heard her voice on his computer, a replay of an earlier show, and realized Elliot had caught on to the fact that she'd gone AWOL.

“Yes, but—”

“So you didn't just set me up to look like a fool in front of the entire world?”

“No!”

“You didn't play me, try to get me to fall for you?”

“You started this. And I quote: ‘I'll help you woo this girl.'”

“I'm not the one who called in! You must have been laughing behind your hand every time you did something, knowing I'd be stunned at your Casanova abilities to win my heart.”

“You've got to be kidding me. Listen, until a couple days ago, I had no idea it was you.”

“Give me a break. You had to know I was Miss Foolish Heart.”

“Why's that?”

“Because why else would you be interested in a—” her breath caught—“a girl who is
disabled
.”

“Issy, I didn't mean it like you took it.”

“Nope, you're right. I'm a mess. My world is two blocks wide. And I can't leave my house without feeling like I'm undressed in front of the entire town. I have so much baggage, you'd have to hire a cargo plane every time we went out on a date.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“You stole from me. You stole the most important thing I still have of my dad.”

“I didn't steal anything. I don't have your father's playbook. I don't need it—I have my own plays.”

“I'm sure you do. Your own specialized sneaky plays.”

His face hardened. “You want to talk about baggage? How about meeting a pretty girl for the first time only to have her scream and run away?”

She stilled. “You know I regret that.”

“But it's still true, isn't it. I know how I look. And I know that after a while, you'd notice it too. Pity is a terrible foundation for love.”

“I don't see your scars, Caleb. But I guess you do.”

A muscle pulled in his jaw.

“I can't believe you asked me, on the air, if I had feelings for you. What did you want me to say—yes? Yes, I have feelings for you?”

He stared at her as if that was exactly what he wanted her to say.

She shook her head. “I wouldn't date you if you were the last man in Deep Haven.”

“Then you really are Miss Foolish Heart,” he whispered. “And by the way, your dad isn't dead.”

Her breath hiccuped in her chest. Then she turned and walked out of his house.

* * *

Caleb hated how his disability had the power to beat him. How it kept him from running after Issy. He'd had to practically launch his computer off his lap, untangle himself from the sofa, then grapple for his crutches and force himself upright before he could take off after her.

By then, of course, she'd slammed her front door. He rang the doorbell, pounded. “Issy!”

Then you really are Miss Foolish Heart.
Oh, he was a jerk. He'd just been so . . . frustrated. And yes, angry.

Perhaps he
had
only been seeing his scars. Because he couldn't get past the dark fear inside that he didn't measure up to Issy's top ten. That he simply was too . . . damaged.

Okay, a guy could be at least as resourceful as his dog. Caleb moved around the back and through the gate. He climbed the porch stairs and, finding the kitchen door locked, called out, “Issy, I'm coming through the door.”

Nothing but the sound of crashing, thumping. “Are you okay in there?”

He debated a long moment, then pushed the cardboard from the frame enough to reach inside and unlock the door. Good thing he hadn't received that pane of glass yet.

Issy sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by books, most of them upturned and open. She looked at him. “I can't find it.”

Then, before he could sit down next to her, she got up and backed away, her face crumbling. “I can't find it.”

“Issy, listen, we'll find your dad's playbook. I'm sure it's around here.”

But she just kept shaking her head. “I . . .” She turned and disappeared around the stairs before he could navigate the minefield of litter on the kitchen floor.

“It's going to be okay.”

He heard thumping in the other room, and by the time he got there, she'd dumped out the contents of the bookshelf.

“Where is it?” Her voice had a wild edge to it.

“Issy, breathe. Just . . . stop. It's going to be okay.”

“It's gone, Caleb. It's gone.” Her voice turned whisper thin. “He's gone.”

“He's not gone. I'm sorry for what I said.”

When she reached out for the piano, she missed and collapsed onto the floor. Moving back between the bench and the wall, she drew her feet close. Clasped her arms around her legs. Put her face against her knees.

He dropped the crutches on the floor and hopped over to her.

She looked up at him, and her mouth opened as if seeing him for the first time. Her gaze went to his leg, to his crutches.

He tried not to let the horror in her face take him apart, tried to steel himself for the blade that went through him, but it still made him wince. “Yes, I lost my leg. Just like I told you.”

“BoyNextDoor told me.”

“
I
told you, Miss Foolish Heart. I didn't know it was you at the time. But I was going to tell you. I wanted you to know.”

She pressed her hands again to her mouth, closed her eyes. Her shoulders shook.

“It's just a leg.” He used the bench to brace himself as he lowered himself to the floor. Then he reached out and touched her cheek, running his thumb across it. “I'm still alive. That's the part that took me a while to get my brain around. I'm still alive. And living life as wholly as I can.”

She opened her eyes, an ache in them. “You're more
whole
than anyone I've ever met. You were so kind to me, even when I ran from you. You have no business with someone like me. I was horrible to you . . . and I'm so sorry, Caleb.”

“Of course I forgive you, Issy. But you have to know I wasn't trying to deceive you. It's just that . . . you're so hard to get to know, and I loved being the guy you shared your thoughts with at the end of the day. And I'm not going to lie and tell you that it didn't feel good to have you pay attention to me, to see me beyond my scars. I thought that maybe if you got to know me on the radio, it might be easier to—” he took a breath—“to love me in person.”

He swallowed, letting that word hang there.

She looked at him then, her expression stripped, and all he could think to do was pull her into his embrace, right there under the piano. “I'm not going to let you go, Issy. Not when I just found you. I might have needed a little help getting started, but everything after the spaghetti was all me. I meant everything I told Miss Foolish Heart about you. Everything I told
you
.”

He pressed his lips against her hair, loving the smell of her, the lingering scent of her garden, the perfume she used. And she fit perfectly, right there in his arms.

Filling in all the blank places of his life.

She let out a trembling breath, and something inside him gave way when she grabbed his shirt, fisted it. “Don't go anywhere, Caleb. Please, hold on to me.”

Attagirl.

She looked at his leg. “Does it . . . does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. When I'm standing for a long time or often at the end of practice. And I can easily wrench my knee if I'm not careful.”

“I'm so sorry.”

He drew in his breath. “Issy—you swear you didn't know it was me? BoyNextDoor? I mean, I didn't think so, but how could you not know? I did everything you told me to.”

“I . . .” Her voice caught. “I didn't know. A couple times, I thought your voice sounded familiar, but . . . no.” Her eyes softened. “But I wanted it to be.”

He ran his hand down her face. “When I found out it was you, I didn't want to mess it up. I'd given away some big pieces of myself to Miss Foolish Heart, and I felt foolish too. But it was worth it if you would let me into your world.” He couldn't look at her then, but she found his eyes.

“I know. I loved those parts you gave to me, loved seeing inside your heart. And that's probably why I had such a horrible crush on BoyNextDoor. Here I'd been on the air for two years and never once developed feelings for a caller. Then suddenly, I was thinking about your voice, checking the forum to see if you appeared. And then, when you—Caleb—started . . . invading my life—”

“Hey, you were the one who came over and barged into my life—”

“Your dog invaded mine first!”

“He's not my dog, by the way.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But that first day, when I—”

“Nearly bit my head off, blaming me for my terrible beast? Yeah, well, you scared me a little. I didn't want you mad at me.”

“Sorry.”

“I just have to know—how did you start this radio show if you'd never had a date?”

“Oh, it happened a couple months after my parents' accident. I called in to a radio station to make a comment about a community discussion and I quoted
Jane Eyre
. The station's manager happened to be a friend of my father's, so he asked me to host a book club from my home. It started as a book club for romantics, and he posted it online as a podcast. My producer, Elliot, heard it and turned it into
My Foolish Heart
. I took it online not long after and  . . . well, apparently it's a hit.”

“You were invited to a wedding in Napa for Lauren O'Grady.”

Her face fell. “Which, of course, I did a great job of destroying. But even if she hadn't called it off, I couldn't really go.”

He ran his thumb down her cheek. “Someday, maybe.”

She let her breath shudder out like the last shiver of a tree after a rain. “It's funny—ever since that attack in the grocery store, I hardly had a moment's hesitation about going over to your house or letting you into mine. Meeting you was a sort of breakthrough for me.”

“I'm so glad I can infuriate you into healing. I have a feeling I'll be rather good at that.”

She wore a small grin. “By the way, yes, I have feelings for you.”

“You have feelings for me?”

“I'm sitting here under my piano with you.”

“That's significant?”

“It's . . . my safe place. My mother used to play the piano, and I'd climb under here while she played and listen. I can imagine her alive, here. Being here . . . it keeps my world together.”

“I heard she died in your arms.”

She nodded. “We'd just had tense words, too, about my leaving. I was in town for homecoming, but I wanted to leave on Sunday morning. She'd wanted me to wait until after church. We fought and finally decided to go out for dinner Saturday night. It was raining, and the semi skidded through the light.” She sighed. “I still can't figure out why I was in such a hurry to leave.”

“I'm so sorry, Issy.”

She leaned her head against his chest.

“Thank you for letting me under your piano.”

“Thank you for breaking in to my house.”

“Sorry about your door.”

“I think maybe I shouldn't bother with glass.”

She looked at him, and he caught her face in the cradle of his hand.

“Issy, you are so beautiful.” He leaned forward, stopping himself a breath from her lips. “Can I . . . ?”

She kissed him. Just leaned up and pressed her lips to his, sweet and full on the mouth. Issy Presley, Miss Foolish Heart, kissing him. She made a little sound in the back of her throat, and he wrapped his arm around her neck and moved into the kiss.